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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.153Z
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- CHAPTER LXXIII.
OUR RECEPTION IN PARTOOWYE
Upon starting, at last, I flung away my sandals—by this time quite worn
out—with the view of keeping company with the doctor, now forced to go
barefooted. Recovering his spirits in good time, he protested that
boots were a bore after all, and going without them decidedly manly.
This was said, be it observed, while strolling along over a soft carpet
of grass; a little moist, even at midday, from the shade of the wood
through which we were passing.
Emerging from this we entered upon a blank, sandy tract, upon which the
sun’s rays fairly flashed; making the loose gravel under foot well nigh
as hot as the floor of an oven. Such yelling and leaping as there was
in getting over this ground would be hard to surpass. We could not have
crossed at all—until toward sunset—had it not been for a few small,
wiry bushes growing here and there, into which we every now and then
thrust our feet to cool. There was no little judgment necessary in
selecting your bush; for if not chosen judiciously, the chances were
that, on springing forward again, and finding the next bush so far off
that an intermediate cooling was indispensable, you would have to run
back to your old place again.
Safely passing the Sahara, or Fiery Desert, we soothed our
half-blistered feet by a pleasant walk through a meadow of long grass,
which soon brought us in sight of a few straggling houses, sheltered by
a grove on the outskirts of the village of Partoowye.
My comrade was for entering the first one we came to; but, on drawing
near, they had so much of an air of pretension, at least for native
dwellings, that I hesitated; thinking they might be the residences of
the higher chiefs, from whom no very extravagant welcome was to be
anticipated.
While standing irresolute, a voice from the nearest house hailed us:
“Aramai! aramai, karhowree!” (Come in! come in, strangers!)
We at once entered, and were warmly greeted. The master of the house
was an aristocratic-looking islander, dressed in loose linen drawers, a
fine white shirt, and a sash of red silk tied about the waist, after
the fashion of the Spaniards in Chili. He came up to us with a free,
frank air, and, striking his chest with his hand, introduced himself as
Ereemear Po-Po; or, to render the Christian name back again into
English—Jeremiah Po-Po.
These curious combinations of names among the people of the Society
Islands originate in the following way. When a native is baptized, his
patronymic often gives offence to the missionaries, and they insist
upon changing to something else whatever is objectionable therein. So,
when Jeremiah came to the font, and gave his name as Narmo-Nana Po-Po
(something equivalent to The-Darer-of-Devils-by-Night), the reverend
gentleman officiating told him that such a heathenish appellation would
never do, and a substitute must be had; at least for the devil part of
it. Some highly respectable Christian appellations were then submitted,
from which the candidate for admission into the church was at liberty
to choose. There was Adamo (Adam), Nooar (Noah), Daveedar (David),
Earcobar (James), Eorna (John), Patoora (Peter), Ereemear (Jeremiah),
etc. And thus did he come to be named Jeremiah Po-Po; or,
Jeremiah-in-the-Dark—which he certainly was, I fancy, as to the
ridiculousness of his new cognomen.
We gave our names in return; upon which he bade us be seated; and,
sitting down himself, asked us a great many questions, in mixed English
and Tahitian. After giving some directions to an old man to prepare
food, our host’s wife, a large, benevolent-looking woman, upwards of
forty, also sat down by us. In our soiled and travel-stained
appearance, the good lady seemed to find abundant matter for
commiseration; and all the while kept looking at us piteously, and
making mournful exclamations.
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